


Claustrophobia

by OasisTrap



Series: Life and Other Problems of the Living Dead [1]
Category: In the Flesh (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Gen, Partially Deceased Syndrome, Zombielock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OasisTrap/pseuds/OasisTrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fall from the rooftop wasn't supposed to kill him, but something went wrong. Now, after the event known as The Rising, Sherlock Holmes is coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claustrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yes, I know The Rising happened with the people who died in 2009, but I can't help myself!
> 
> I'm planning to do a series of drabbles/one-shots in this crossover universe, mainly focusing in Sherlock's life after death and how he's handling it. And I'm kinda stuck with the continuation my other story right now (cough) so this is some kind of cure for my writer's block.
> 
> (The major character death tag was my cheekiness taking over)
> 
> This is unbeta-ed, sorry for grammar errors and misspellings.  
> Edited with minor change to fix continuity error.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, just dark. He’d say it felt suffocating, but when he opened his mouth to breathe—inhale, exhale—it didn’t feel natural. It was only oxygen entering his mouth, passing through his throat, circulating through his lungs and coming out again.

_Oxygen; inhale._

_Exhale; oxygen._

He decided breathing was useless and therefore, boring.

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock?”

A pair of deformed pupils shifted to find John Watson staring back with worry and discomfort. The good doctor jumped back slightly when his eyes found Sherlock’s stare. He was still unused with his now partially deceased flatmate, especially after his sudden appearance in their flat during The Rising.

“What?” his bored reply came after John recovered from his brief shock.

“I said, do you remember anything from before your rehabilitation?”

Sherlock groaned in irritation. Mycroft asked the same question after his personally hand-picked medical team ministered the first medication for his little brother’s PDS. He told him he didn’t recall anything before they treated him. He was lying, of course.

Now, facing his best friend, he didn’t feel like doing the same.

“Oh, I remember breaking my coffin’s lid.” He spoke animatedly. “It was pretty damn hard, digging to the surface from six feet under.” He checked his fingernails. There weren’t any traces of dirt from his grave, but he swore he could feel it underneath them.

John didn’t say anything for a moment.

“You almost gave poor Mrs. Hudson a heart attack, mate.” He spoke quietly, as if regretting his words. “You came in through the front door and stormed up the stairs into the flat like you just… _came home as usual_. You stood there,” he gestured to the centre of the room. “Looking at the bloody wall when I came back from the hospital, and…” He swallowed. “You were dead. Didn’t even say anything, just stood there looking at me with those fucking dead eyes!” His anger took over. “For god’s sake, Sherlock. I thought you were going to attack me and eat my fucking brain. My gun, it was in the drawer. I didn’t take it. I was so scared I didn’t even dare stepping into the room.”

He covered his face with his hands. He was shaking with anger as Sherlock silently watched him with increasingly pained expression.

“I’m still dead.”

The doctor lifted his face. “I know.” He whispered with a strained voice.

“I was so sure it was Cotard’s Syndrome. My motoric nerves functioned normally; I could move and didn’t feel any pain.” He lifted his hand and moved his fingers in front of his face experimentally, eyeing the grey skin. “It’s my fault.” He touched his face; he couldn’t feel anything at all. “I’m sorry, John.” In his imagination, he thought he could feel the ghost of tears flowing down. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you attack me? Or anyone?” His expression softened.

Sherlock glanced at him from between his fingers. “I didn’t feel any hunger. I felt… _alive_.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: From wikipedia = The Cotard delusion, Cotard's syndrome, or Walking Corpse Syndrome is a rare mental disorder in which people hold a delusional belief that they are dead (either figuratively or literally), do not exist, are putrefying, or have lost their blood or internal organs. Read their page for more information about its symptoms!
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
